


le feu dans mon âme

by stars_inthe_sky



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Case Fic, Episode Style, F/M, Gen, Team Dynamics, Teamwork, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24378376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_inthe_sky/pseuds/stars_inthe_sky
Summary: “It’s 2020, women can be terrorists, too,” Porthos points out.Over the video chat, Athos winces. “That is…not the issue.”
Relationships: Ana de Austria | Anne d'Autriche/Aramis | René d'Herblay, Aramis | René d'Herblay & d'Artagnan & Athos | Comte de la Fère & Porthos du Vallon, Elodie (The Musketeers 2014)/Porthos du Vallon, d'Artagnan & Constance Bonacieux
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	le feu dans mon âme

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_b_rackham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_b_rackham/gifts).



> The title is French for "fire in my soul," a lyric from "[Glitter and Gold](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHUrAvKNF8s)" by Barns County. 
> 
> For reference, the actual [Anne d'Autriche](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anne_of_Austria) was baptized Ana María Mauricia.

“You’re late,” Athos says, barely looking up from his position leaning against the bullpen gate.

“And you’re sober!” Aramis retorts. “Quite a morning we’re all having.” He slings his jacket and messenger bag around the back of his desk chair, revealing an artfully rumpled shirt and a too-loose tie.

From his own desk, Porthos snorts. “What’s her name this time?”

“No comment, except to point out I am a mere _two minutes_ late despite generally being a paragon of punctuality.”

Athos rolls his eyes and gestures toward the conference room. “If we might get to the morning briefing no more than _two minutes_ late?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Porthos mutters, leading the way.

“Wait.” Aramis peers at the rest of the gathered squad. “Where’s D’artagnan?”

“Where do you think?” Athos asks as the others take their seats. “Arduously assisting our civilian administrator in something that is presumably not actually an issue.”

“Ah,” Aramis chuckles. “So you held up the meeting _and_ Porthos just to gloat?”

“Evidently.” Athos replaces his cap and straightens his own tie. “Also, I did want to see how long Constance would pretend to need help with her email.”

“Didn’t she install the program on every computer in the precinct?”

“Yes, but D’artagnan doesn’t know that.”

“Why don’t they just get a drink already? Or a storage closet? There’s a perfectly good—”

“As you know, she’s _married_ ,” Athos replies. “And we do have to do _some_ police work now and again.”

“Hey, rookie!” Porthos calls out to the bullpen, and D’artagnan vaults over Constance’s desk in his sudden rush to the briefing, knocking over a cup of pens on the way.

***

Porthos flips through the case they’ve been assigned, juggling paperwork one-handed while sipping a cup of coffee on the way to meet their contacts. “Plainclothes escort in the park on a nice day. Could be worse.”

“And a good cause to boot,” Aramis nods, peering over his friend’s shoulder at the tidy notes Constance had compiled. “I’d say it’s hard to argue with school safety, but evidently someone has.”

“Hell of a set of death threats to lodge against a third-grade teacher, too.” Porthos grips the folder in his teeth momentarily, shuffling a photocopied page to the top. “I get that she’s made a stir with the anti-gun stuff, but _geez_. And there’s gonna be kids at this thing, no less.”

“Let’s see if we can find the rally organizers, touch base, and then we’ll do a sweep?” Aramis suggests. “I think that’s them.”

He strides up to the mostly female knot of schoolteacher-activists, holding his badge out, then freezes when a blonde with delicate features spins around, her eyes Disney-Princess-wide. “Aramis?”

“Anne? Er—is it Ana María professionally, then?”

“No, I—just legally, and I guess in church, but I hardly ever—”

“Oh.” He rakes a hand through his hair and nods. “So, this must be your big work thing today?”

The woman blushes nine shades of red as she nods. Porthos cuts off any reply, shooting a glare at Aramis and turning to the woman. “You’re Ana María d'Autriche, then? Been getting death threats? We’re gonna be your police protection for the day.”

Anne begins to protest, but one of the other women, tall with dark curls, chimes in, “No, honey, I requested it.” At Anne’s surprise, she adds, “I don’t love cops, either—no offense—but those letters were _horrifying_. And you’ve been jumpy every time even a car swerves nearby for days now.”

Anne sighs wearily. “Thank you, Sylvie. It’s just—well, a lot of the families here are undocumented, and I don’t want anyone to be afraid.”

“That should include you,” Sylvie presses. “These people dug deep enough to threaten you with a name you haven’t used since you were baptized. This is what law enforcement is supposed to be _for_.”

“But we can’t let them think we’re afraid—that’s how they win, and we’ve worked to hard to—what?” Anne turns back to Aramis, who’s shaking his head.

“She’s right, Anne,” he says, and Porthos makes a noise of agreement. “You guys are doing important work, and you have every right to speak out and not get shot at yourself. Plus, plainclothes escort.” He gestures to his jeans.

“Nobody outside this circle needs to know we’re here, Ms. d'Autriche,” Porthos adds. “Our job’s to keep you safe—you and everybody else who’s coming to support a good cause. If we can find out what’s going on, bigger picture, even better. All right?”

Anne, who hadn’t stopped staring at Aramis, startles slightly at the question but nods. “Then I’ll trust you to keep us all safe.”

“You’ve got the city’s best at your service,” Aramis assures her, clasping her hand in a comforting gesture she seems to appreciate. “Detective du Vallon and I—”

“Are gonna go do a quick perimeter sweep, get a lay of the land,” Porthos interrupts. “And then we’ll ask you lot a few questions and figure out a plan for the event itself. Good? Good.”

“Don’t go far!” Aramis adds as Porthos grabs his arm and drags him a few yards away. “What? What was that? We couldn’t do the questions first?”

Porthos punches his friend’s bicep. “Don’t even start. How on God’s green Earth does _every_ case come back to your inability to keep it in your pants?”

“Well, not—not _every_ case.” Aramis has the decency to look at least a little chagrined as they begin their circuit.

“Unbelievable. Every damn time. Just once _I_ want to sleep with the pretty civilian in need of assistance.” He throws out his now-empty coffee cup and points to a thick tree that could have a clear sightline to the under-construction stage.

Aramis nods and makes a note of it. “When has _this_ ever happened?”

“The old Police Commissioner’s wife.”

“They were separated!”

“The Mayor’s nanny?”

“What goes on between two consenting adults in an au pair suite…”

“The head of that fancy private girls’ school.”

“Definitely had eyes for Athos; she just liked that I knew my Dworkin.”

“And this time?”

“Pure coincidence. It’s not like—well, let’s just say there was a lot of tequila and very little talking.” Aramis jumps onto a large rock, gazing back at the teachers under the guise of checking another potential sightline. “She’s impressive, though, eh?”

“Unbelievable.” Porthos groans. “If you’re gonna keep making eyes at each other, I need more coffee.”

***

“Could you give me a hand with this?” Constance asks, standing on her tiptoes in attempt to return a box to its shelf in storage. “I swear, I put in a budget request for a stepstool every quarter…”

D’artagnan reaches around her to successfully shove the box back into place. “Yes, but then you wouldn’t be able to get the precinct’s newest detective to do your bidding.”

She makes a face and jerks out of his loose embrace, plucking a folder off the stack of cold-case files they’re meant to be sorting. “That might be better, next time. January 2014?”

“Got it.” D’artagnan dusts off the top of the box in question before passing it to Constance. “You really think so?”

“Well, it’s just—” She pauses to put the folder in, balancing the cardboard atop her knee briefly, then hands the box back. “I do appreciate the help—and the company, really—it’s just that you make things…distracting. Complicated.”

He replaces the January 2014 box and takes half a step toward her, hand extended. “Constance—”

“D’artagnan, please.” She steps away from his reach and knocks into the unsorted pile, sending a few folders askew. “Damn it.”

“My fault, sorry.” He squats, collecting the loose papers and checking what matches which folder. “Hang on…”

Constance peers over his shoulder at a series of short notes. “Aren’t those from the case Aramis and Porthos are working?”

D’artagnan shakes his head slowly. “No, these are from…five years ago. That’s weird.”

She kneels alongside him, locating the folder the letters had fallen from and flipping through its other contents. “D’artagnan, it’s not just the threats, look at this.”

He scans the page she holds out to him, eyes widening. “Those other files might have to wait.”

***

Athos is mechanically signing off on personnel reports when D’artagnan rushes into his office without knocking, Constance a little too close behind him to be considered strictly friendly.

He rolls his eyes as the pair. “What?”

D’artagnan slaps a folder, slightly faded with age, on the desk. “We found a lead on that thing Aramis and Porthos are investigating.”

Athos rubs his temples. “I _specifically_ recall asking you to help Mrs. Bonacieux with those cold cases.”

“That’s what we were doing,” Constance says. “Except then we found this one.”

“Five years ago, there was this big pro-gun control event, and the leaders were getting death threats. Same patterns, same wording, same…everything.” D’artagnan shows him their findings, and Constance places a photocopy of the more recent ones next to it. “Thanks to Constance’s improved archiving system, we also found two other cases that cropped up since then, but those were just threats without any clear follow-through attempts.”

“Well…shit,” Athos grumbles, pushing his earlier paperwork aside. “What happened in the original cold case?”

The two glanced at each other, wincing, and D’artagnan goes back to flipping through the old file.

“A spokesman was killed at their rally, mid-speech,” Constance explains. “One shot, straight to the head. The officers on site at the time arrested a suspect, but somehow she just…slipped away after she was processed.”

“ _She_?” Athos asks. “Wait, how does a murder suspect evade jail time _after_ being arrested?”

“Unclear,” D’artagnan says, placing yet another file on the desk. “Apparently when one vanishes into the night _and_ somehow makes sure there’s not even CCTV footage left behind…a lot of people get fired, demoted, or transferred.”

“And the police department does its best to make sure no one knows about the…error,” Constance adds. “There _have_ been related procedural changes since, but they seem to have pitched them as transparency measures, or safety issues, or whatever.”

“And the suspect?”

“In the wind ever since, thus the cold case. Ah, here she is.” D’artagnan reveals a picture of a brunette in her mid-thirties, giving the camera an improbably sultry mug shot.

“We thought we should let the others know,” Constance continues. “But D’artagnan thought you should hear it first, and—Captain, are you all right?”

Athos’s gaze is locked onto the photo. “No. But, Constance, call them. D’artagnan, I need at least two squads of uniforms ready to come with us to the scene. _Now_.”

***

“Well, I think you have all the information there is to share,” Anne says, casting a nervous glance to the back of the stage where they’re huddled. “We already have private security—”

“You have Red Guard Security,” Porthos scoffs. “That hardly counts.” Aramis elbows him and gestures for Anne to continue.

“Um, anyway, we alerted emergency services—the permit office said to—and you have all the names from the Facebook event page.” Anne considers for a moment. “If there’s anything else you need, please tell us, but honestly, I don’t know who would even consider something like this.” Her knuckles go white over clenched fists. “We have 200 kids out there!”

“Cancel,” Porthos suggests. Anne’s jaw goes slack at the notion, and her friend Sylvie looks outright offended. “I know, I know, you’re not going to, but we have to at least give you the option. Especially with no leads to go on here.”

“We’ll stand on the stage with you.” Anne, Sylvie, and Porthos each look at Aramis in surprise, though clearly all for different reasons. He explains, “You can just introduce us as fellow teachers, and then we can keep a close eye on the crowd, who has an angle on you, everything.”

She smiles at that, though it’s tentative. “That would be…very comforting. Yes, okay.”

Porthos is on the verge of protesting the unnecessary sexual tension between two people who had evidently already slept together less than a day earlier, but then his phone buzzes.

“Constance?”

“Hey, guys.” From behind her on the video chat, Athos glowers. “We have a lead for you—a _really_ similar case a few years ago. Guns in schools, same sort of threats, everything. The suspect disappeared before she could be charged, but I’m texting you her picture now.”

“ _She_?” Aramis says.

“It’s 2020, women can be terrorists, too,” Porthos points out.

Over the video chat, Athos winces. “That is…not the issue.” His image freezes for a moment as Constance’s text comes through.

Even Anne looks surprised. “That’s quite a mug shot this Melanie de Winter has.”

“It’s an alias,” Athos snaps.

Aramis asks the obvious question. “And you know that…how?”

His shoulders slump like he’s been punched in the stomach. “She is…my ex-fiancée. Her being a murderer for hire wasn’t even why I ended things, but what’s important here is that the cold case matches her M.O. at the time—and that case matches this one. Plus a couple of other related investigations in between. Whoever she’s working for…”

“Murder for hire?” Anne whispers. “Does the gun lobby really hate us that much? We teach eight-year-olds! Eight-year-olds who have to do active shooter drills because of people like—like her.”

Porthos’s mouth twitches as he tries to avoid outright sympathy. “It seems that way. I’m sorry, Ms. d'Autriche.”

“‘Anne’ is fine,” she says absently, looking to Aramis, who has been watching her reactions.

Constance clears her throat loudly, and he startles. “At least now we have a suspect, right?”

“Yes,” Athos says, raising an eyebrow. “Can you two position yourselves onstage, or otherwise as close to Ms. d'Autriche as possible? We’ve got two squad cars coming already, and D’artagnan and I will be right behind them. But if we don’t make it in time—”

Aramis nods. “Porthos and I will be onstage with her. Athos, with the uniforms—we’re less than twenty minutes out at this point; there’s already a crowd, and it’s a lot of kids and families.”

“I’ll tell them to keep the sirens off if they can,” Athos says. “And to focus on the case; no one’s coming to look for anything else.”

“Good, thank you,” Sylvie says. “This means the rally can go on?”

Athos winces but nods. Aramis turns to Anne. “Do you understand you’re about to be used as bait? We’ll do everything we possibly can to protect you, but there is very much a risk here.”

Anne stands up a little straighter, grabbing and squeezing Sylvie’s hand. “There’s risk in anything worth doing. We will not be silenced.”

“Right, then.” Porthos says, as Constance ends the call. “Let’s go.”

***

“The children of this city deserve better than metal detectors and bulletproof lunch trays!” Anne shouts into a megaphone, her last couple of words drowned out by cheers.

“She is _great_ ,” Aramis mutters as Porthos nods assent. “Not just because of last night, either. I mean, that too, but she’s…that courage, that kindness...”

They both wince at a buzz of static over their earpieces. “She’s very good, but there is an _actual_ assassin in this crowd, and I’ve got eyes on her,” D’artagnan says.

Athos draws a sharp breath. “Me, too. Front section by the stage, all the way on your left. I’m going in.”

“Athos, she will _see_ you, and she knows what _you_ look like,” Porthos hisses. “We need to get the uniforms in position, don’t just—”

A gunshot cuts him off.

Ears ringing, Aramis leaps forward, knocking Anne to the ground and fully covering her petite body with his. “Don't worry, look at me. I’ve got you.”

“So you have,” she murmurs in the half-breath of stillness before another shot rings out, making them both flinch.

“Get _down_ ,” Porthos yells, jumping off the edge of the stage to tackle a pale woman in a light blue hoodie. She dodges, and he lands on her legs, knocking her over face-first. Her third shot goes high and wide, hitting a lamppost as she falls.

Porthos manages to grab her right wrist, scrabbling in the dirt as she tries to get out from under him. He pries the gun out of her fingers and shoves it out of reach, but she scratches his cheek hard enough to draw blood. When he grunts in surprise, she manages to roll over underneath him enough to knee him in the groin, and then rolls away as he collapses to the ground.

Athos grabs her just as she leaps to her feet, holding her against him back-to-front with one of her arms pinned between them. “Hello again, _Melanie_.” She twists around just enough to spit in his face.

Porthos approaches, ready with a pair of cuffs, but she manages to kick him square in the chest, using Athos for balance even though his grip on her is too tight to break. D’artagnan rushes in around the fleeing crowd and dives forward, trapping their suspect’s free hand in his cuffs and sliding into her shins before she can kick him, too. Porthos jumps back to his feet in time to help get her other wrist into the handcuffs, and she stills in acknowledgement she’s overpowered for the moment.

“Well,” Melanie huffs, craning her neck to look back at Athos. “I see you’re still unable to let _some_ things go.”

“Attempted murder isn’t typically something I take lightly, particularly when on duty,” Athos replies, manhandling her with perhaps a little more force than necessary toward the nearest police car. “But it’s always good to know some things never change. Now, you do have the right to remain silent, but I have some questions…”

“Athos, read the script, or she’ll have grounds to get away again legally,” Constance chimes in from the station. “And I’ve been pulling the rest of the evidence files since you left, so that would be a waste.”

“Everyone else all right?” Athos asks. “D’artagnan, can you deal with the uniforms?”

“Roger that,” D’artagnan confirms, switching his radio channel. “Everyone, Athos has the suspect in custody. I need two officers with him in the car back to the station, now. Can someone confirm if the perimeter is secure?” Static buzzes, and he groans. “I’m going to go check the south entrance to the park and start interviewing witnesses before they all start posting videos.”

“We’re fine, too,” Aramis says, rolling off Anne and onto his back against the stage, laughing a little in relief. “Maybe we should make sure of that over dinner, though?”

Anne brightens at the suggestion and reaches for his hand.

“I’m also still breathing, in case anyone was concerned,” Porthos groans after a pause, dragging himself to sit against the base of the stage. “And none of you got _kicked_. Or scratched. Not to mention—”

“Sir, do you need medical attention?”

Porthos looks up at a skinny EMT with a messy yellow bun and a wide smile standing over him, the sun lighting up her features. “Probably, but I’m a terrible patient…ma’am.”

She grins and helps him stand, settling him on the edge of the stage so they’re nearer to eye level for a quick exam. “Well, I’m a very good medic. And I saw what you and your friends did before. Very brave.”

“Uh, thank you,” he says. “The kicking wasn’t that bad, really; I think she was wearing sneakers. Probably just some bruises, you know.”

The EMT digs a wipe out of her belt pouch. “I’m more worried about those scratches on your face—it looks like she broke skin. And I’d hate to see those cheekbones scar, Officer…?”

“I’m Porthos.” He grins.

“Elodie.” She offers her hand, and he shakes it. “But you can call me…mm, anytime, really, I work odd hours. Although I do have a day off coming up.”

“Is that right?”

***

“We still don’t know who she’s working for,” Aramis complains a few hours later, back at the precinct. “Or why they keep trying the same approach to scaring off the good guys here.”

“Five years,” Athos shakes his head. “At least the suspected murderer we _do_ know about is behind bars."

D’artagnan nods vigorously. “ _And_ we have grounds to hold her until she can be charged. What with the more recent attempted murder.”

“Don’t forget resisting arrest!” Porthos adds, touching his bandaged cheek. “I’d like to make sure that one stays in the mix.”

“Well, on the upside, you’re all trending on Twitter,” Constance announces. “Looks like more than a few people were live-streaming Anne’s speech and caught the whole thing on camera. Saved an innocent schoolteacher, caught an active shooter, _and_ kept anyone from getting injured? I bet the Mayor’s in here with a commendation next week.”

“Well, one person got a _little_ injured,” Aramis points out, poking a spot next to the ice pack Porthos is holding against his sore thigh. “But it sounds like he got a phone number for his trouble, which almost makes it worth shutting down the Red Guard idiots’ trying to take credit.”

Porthos doesn’t seem bothered. “Oh, not just her number—I think I’m getting dinner out of it tomorrow if her shift ends on time.”

“ _And_ you finally met a pretty civilian on a case,” Aramis adds. Porthos laughs.

“Plus, Athos got to put his ex in jail, again. That’s cathartic…I assume,” D’artagnan says.

Athos almost smiles. “I will admit, I didn’t mind leaving her in a solitary holding pen downstairs with at least three sets of locks for someone else to deal with for a few hours. And now, I will be going to the bar. Anyone care to join?”

“I’m supposed to be meeting Anne there later anyway,” Aramis says. “But if you’re buying…”

“Well, I’ll be there, too, I guess.” D’artagnan glances at Constance, who shakes her head and ducks out wordlessly.

“Count me in; I need to dull some pain here,” Porthos adds. “And get an explanation for how you were _engaged_ to the suspect who kneed me in the nuts earlier?”

Aramis shrugs his coat on. “Seriously, Athos. Decorated police captain, notorious loner—how _does_ such a thing happen?”

“That’s a story for when we actually close this case,” Athos retorts, walking toward the elevator without turning around. “Or at least until I’m _several_ drinks in.”

“Then it’s all for one and beers for all!” D’artagnan declares, leading the others out into the evening.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Joyeux anniversaire à ma cherie Red!_ Now go watch season 3 so you can appreciate its awesome ladies, _s'il vous plaît_.
> 
> A heartfelt _merci beaucoup_ to [lulabo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lulabo) and [ilostmyshoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilostmyshoe) for turning my vague plea to explain what was wrong with the first draft into actual, practical feedback that ensured I could churn out something publishable.


End file.
